


Acceptable Price

by HanaSheralHaminail



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, T'hy'la, also Spock thinks Jim should propose just because he won the fight, at its finest, fight to the death, it's not pon farr but it's got an arena and a fight, someone records the fight and Jim is jealous, spock gets himself into trouble and Jim is angry about it, they're both too afraid to jeopardise their friendship to confess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 10:44:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14913896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HanaSheralHaminail/pseuds/HanaSheralHaminail
Summary: In which Spock fights to the death for possession of the Enterprise crew and Jim finally admits (to himself) he might be feeling more than simple friendship for him. When Spock confronts him about his strange behaviour, the Captain has no choice but to risk it all and confess.Written for this year's Reverse Big Bang!





	1. The Duel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spectralPhobia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectralPhobia/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same old, same old: the Enterprise receives a distress signal, a landing party is sent down, and all hell breaks loose. This time, they find themselves amongts aliens who threaten to keep them prisoners for the rest of their lives... unless a member of the crew succeeds in beating their most powerful warrior in fair duel.
> 
> Spock volunteers. Jim is not that pleased, but there's no alternative.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Welcome to the fic that has kept me busy for a month and a half!  
> Inspired by the beautiful art of my friend leifor, that has Spock looking so good fighting in an arena with a really cool weapon.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this angstfest with a happy ending.

_**1** _

_**The Duel** _

 

Sitting in the Captain’s chair with his eyes closed, Jim Kirk let out a breath. It seemed to him as if that breath lasted for half a century - each second magnified, expanding into time and space until all he could think of was the tension draining slowly from his shoulders, finally leaving him along with that small puff of air.

It had been a rough month, to say the least. So rough, in fact, that the Admiralty had decided to assign the _Enterprise_ to star-mapping duty. For once, Kirk had not fought them: in the past weeks, his crew had been drugged (in four different ways and occasions), kidnapped (a round eight times), shrunk (seven times and counting) and even, during one memorable party, turned into sentient animals. They could stand a few days of uneventful space travel. No one had ever died of boredom.

He might just have overestimated his own ability to survive idleness.

Fifteen hours into this R&R mission and already he was going stir-crazy. So, because he was bored, and because there was clearly nothing better to do, he watched his First Officer dutifully work at the science station.

Spock seemed to be the only one excited about their new assignment - but then again, Spock was almost always excited ( _reasonably fascinated_ , he called it, but Jim _knew_ the truth), no matter what they did. It was endearing to see him lose his mind over a recently discovered species of ants, or a disturbingly dangerous space anomaly, or the seventy languages (“So few, Captain, I wonder why,”) spoken on the last planet they visited.

The scientist was too absorbed by his readings to notice his superior officer staring at him - which was probably a good thing, and hey, maybe Jim hadn’t quite exhausted his share of luck - so Kirk took his time in studying his favourite Vulcan.

It wasn’t as if he was breaking regulation, anyway. Spock researching was merely the most interesting thing happening on that fine ship’s morning.

“Fascinating,” the First Officer muttered to himself.

Not one to let such a golden opportunity go to waste, Kirk immediately twisted in his chair, leaning towards him: “Care to share with the class, Mister Spock?” he said teasingly.

Spock straightened his back and turned. His gaze landed automatically on his Captain, and the lines of his face softened infinitesimally, lips curving upwards just enough that the human could read a smile in the expression, if he so desired. Jim beamed at him in response.

“I was merely considering the similarities between the Galaxy we are currently exploring and the Milky Way, sir.”

“Of course, Mister Spock.”

“The statistical likelihood that we will encounter advanced lifeforms is quite high,” the Vulcan added, when it became clear that Kirk would not inquire anything further of him.

“Why, Mister Spock! That’s terribly imprecise of you.”

From his left, Sulu and Chekov exchanged an amused chuckle, but Jim ignored them both. Spock had tilted his head pensively, and he looked like the cats he so adored. Which reminded Kirk he still had to ask Uhura whether it would be appropriate to get the Vulcan a kitten for his next birthday.

“I calculate the odds to be point seven-seven-nine-four to one. Sir.”

The Captain glanced at the ever-changing expanse of stars ahead of them and grinned. Spock slipped silently by his side, moving to stand inches from his chair, arms neatly folded behind his back and expression placid.

“Sounds awesome. Thrusters on full!”

There might be some merit to this mission, after all.

* * *

 

“Sir, I’m receiving a peculiar signal.”

Gamma shift was about to end, and Kirk, who had spent nearly the whole duration of the day on the bridge, fought to suppress a yawn. “What is it, Lieutenant?” he asked, forcing professionality through his tone as he stood to stretch his legs a bit. Bones would have his head if he knew he had taken but one short break in all of nine hours.

Uhura brought a hand up to touch her earpiece, as if the motion alone could serve to make the message clearer. “I’m not sure, sir. It certainly sounds like a distress call.”

“A distress call?” Jim’s sleepiness vanished in the blink of an eye. “Locate its source, and see if you can answer it, Lieutenant.”

Spock watched carefully as his Captain walked around the bridge, fascinated by the abrupt change in his demeanour: one moment, Kirk was sprawled in his chair, owning it with the ease and grace of a lion, the next he was up on his feet, poised and ready to jump into action at the shortest notice. One time too many, the Vulcan entertained the passing thought of melding with so dynamic a mind - what would it be like to experience the strength and power of that consciousness _directly_?

“Mister Chekov, how far are we from M class planets?”

As the young navigator rattled off numbers and figures, Spock allowed himself the luxury of _spacing out_ , as the Captain would say. He knew the answer before Chekov gave it, after all, he could have told Jim as much… The human was now leaning his weight on the back of the ensign’s chair, and the Vulcan noticed his golden uniform had ridden up to expose the barest hint of skin at his waist.

Shaking himself over a blush, Spock returned to staring at his own instruments and shamefully made a mental note to increase the time he devoted to meditation.

“Mister Sulu, proceed in the direction of the closest solar system,” Kirk said tersely, straightening his posture. “Warp factor three.”

Then he went to stand right behind his First Officer - so close the Vulcan could feel the heat pouring off him - and laid his hand flat against his console. “Analysis, Mister Spock?”

“Insufficient data, sir,” Spock blurted out, too busy calculating the exact odds that their fingers might casually brush. He contemplated his next move: should he withdraw his own hand? Or perhaps slide it forward just a little bit? Was the Captain even aware of the significance of such a gesture?

“Sir, the distress signal seems to be coming from the sixth planet orbiting around the G dwarf star we are currently approaching.” Uhura shook her head with a light grimace. “I cannot decipher it, however.”

Releasing Spock from the captivating magnetism of his attention, Jim crossed his arms and fixed a heavy stare on her: “And you’re absolutely sure it’s a distress signal?”

She took a moment before answering. “Yes, sir. It reads as a Code 4-11.”

“Mister Sulu, establish orbit around the planet. We’re going down.”

* * *

 

“Sir, I respectfully submit…”

“No, Mister Spock.”

“But _sir_ , surely you realise…”

Kirk stopped dead in the middle of transporter room and turned to glare at his First Officer with flashing eyes. “I said _no_ , Mister Spock.”

The Vulcan pressed his lips into a thin, disapproving line, fighting to control his unwanted emotional reaction at the human’s continued stubbornness. “If you would care to elaborate as to why,” he insisted in a hissing voice, taking a moment to notice in passing how Jim’s cheeks had reddened in the heat of their argument.

Around them, the away team - made up of McCoy, Uhura and three security guards - took the (by now expected) extra time to revise what little they knew about the planet in preparation for the mission. After the combined efforts of Chekov and Scotty, the crew had managed to narrow down the source of the distress signal to seventeen different key points on the surface, which they were to investigate. The Captain and Commander’s bickering had long become part of a routine, and no one cared enough to give it notice.

“This is a potentially dangerous mission,” Kirk was whispering through clenched teeth, a fast barrage of passionately enounced words. “I will not risk the life of my First Officer.”

 _I could never_ , he thought.

“But you would risk yours?” Spock quipped, tone biting. He wasn’t entirely sure how much of his mixed annoyance and concern showed on his face, but he wasted no energy in containing them: better to try - fail, like he always did - and force Jim to accept that his life was precious, that his life was to be protected at all costs. He was the Captain, was he not? He was… Jim. “As Second in Command, I am _clearly_ more expendable.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Jim said flatly. He stepped forward and raised his tone a little, a million images fluttering through his mind at the same time - Spock bleeding green from the wound in his side that had nearly grazed his heart, Spock looking up at him from across a chessboard, the ghost of a smile curving his mouth as he conceded, Spock standing inside a volcano, eyes closed as he awaited his death, Spock locked into the laboratories, working day and night without pause in an attempt at finding an antidote for a poison that was spreading all around the ship, Spock babbling deliriously as he gasped through choked breaths that tasted like spores…

“Thankfully, that’s not for you to decide,” Kirk stated at last.

The Vulcan’s glare turned icy. “Thankfully, sir, that is for _Regulations_ to decide.” He straightened his back impossibly and prepared to recite those articles he had long before learned by heart - five point four-seven years ago, to be precise, when he had realised he was serving a particularly accident-prone man. “Regulations specifically state that…”

“I know what Regulations say!” Jim snapped, frustration lending a dark quality to his voice. Did the fool not remember he was part of a damn endangered species? “Why can’t you just...”

“Because it is my duty.” _Because I watched you die and there was nothing I could do and I cannot let you leave alone_. Spock wanted to say it, to spit the words right into his Captain’s face and make him apologise for it all, apologise for his recklessness and his absurd humanity and that habit he had of always putting everyone else first. Instead he held his tongue and merely added: “As your First Officer, and as your friend... I am allowed this, Jim.”

Perhaps it was the use of his name - so familiar and yet unexpected outside of the privacy of their quarters - or the way the Vulcan’s voice had softened when he’d said ‘friend’, or the plea hidden behind those layers of regulation and duty; perhaps it was that Kirk had never been able to deny Spock anything. Be it as it may, after a few more moments of staring tersely at one another, the Captain gave a curt nod.

“Fine, then. Permission to join landing party granted, Mister.”

“All right, boys!” came McCoy’s testy drawl. “Now that that’s out of the way, how about we beam down on the hell-planet down there and get this over with, _fast_? I have a Sickbay to run!”

It was only then that Jim realised he was standing inappropriately close to his First Officer - they were mirroring each other’s position, leaning in, arms tightly crossed as if to maintain control over unwanted reactions. He jumped back immediately, hand coming up to scratch at his hair in an unconscious gesture. Spock walked around him and relaxed his posture.

Clearing his throat, the Captain stepped on the blinking platform, swept a hard gaze over his away team. “All ready to beam down, Scotty!” he decided, “Wish us luck!”

“Aye, sir,” said Scotty pensively, “I hope you don’ need it.”

* * *

 

So the distress signal was a trap. In retrospect, Jim should have known. It had become a pattern in the past years, had it not?

As soon as their particles had finished materialising, they’d been surrounded  by no less than twenty individuals, armed with what looked to be an interesting combination between highly advanced technology and nearly prehistoric weapons. It appeared the away team had landed in the middle of a highly-trafficked city - and yet there was no one around. As if they’d been expecting their arrival.

The crew hadn’t even had time for proper introductions before they’d been forced to follow the... private guards? Police-people? Soldiers? across an empty street and into an equally empty hall, from where they’d been ushered into what looked like a containment cell. The general quiet was eerie; made even more disturbing by the distant sounds of voices and running vehicles and _life_.

It was as if they were trapped in a movie set - a fake replica, a cracked mirror hiding all they were not meant to see.

They went willingly, because they were outnumbered and because Kirk had ordered them to - no way he was going to lose a crewmember over something so trivial as a misunderstanding. No way he was going to end what in all effects qualified as a First Contact in fighting. No freaking way. He was James Tiberius Kirk, he had overcome worse things in his life than a bunch of aggressive hosts. He was going to charm the hell out of them and get his people back to safety, to the _Enterprise_.

He knew Uhura was already working on the Universal Translator so as to have it accept and comprehend the brisk, hissing language that seemed to linger in the oxygen-laden air, and he trusted her abilities enough that he was prepared to wait for as long as it took her to make it work.

And besides, something - an _artificial_ something, as Spock had pointed out in a whisper - had rendered their phasers and tricorders useless, so it wasn’t like they had any other choice but to comply, anyway.

Without having to be prompted, the Security Officers - led by their Chief, Serena Giotto - fanned out inside the cell, inspecting its walls in search of any sign of weakness. The rest of the team gathered about the energy field, watching as the soldiers who had escorted them broke into two neat lines and bowed deeply.

Three elegantly dressed aliens were approaching, walking side-by-side; Jim noticed with a strange feeling that they met each other’s pace perfectly, and as their robes swept the floor a tinkling sound accompanied them, as if they’d laced the hems with bells.

As he kept on looking, taking in those pairs of piercing black eyes and the purple hue of their faintly glowing skin, Nyota slipped the Translator in his hand. “Here,” she said in his ear, “Should work now.”

He flashed her his signature winning grin, and stepped forth just as the three evidently important personalities stopped before them. The aliens’ attention fell naturally on the Captain, and Spock was suddenly standing stiffly by his side, as close as possible without actually touching him.

“You are the leader of the invaders?” was the first question directed at the human.

Collecting the loose strands of his patience, Kirk smiled - taking care not to show his teeth in case it was considered a sign of hostility - and produced his best _I’m-a-diplomat-and-I-know-what-I’m-doing_ tone: “I am Captain James Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_ , on a peaceful mission to discover new planets and civilisations,” he said, reciting an introduction he’d rehearsed on countless missions. “My people and I meant no offence coming here. We received a distress signal and…”

He was cut off by the alien on the left, who made a brisk gesture with their four-fingered hand. “We are the Counselors of the Honorable government of _Hr’shira_. As no distress signal was issued, we demand to know. What is your business here, invaders?”

“Forgive me, honorable Counselors, but I received and decrypted the message myself,” Uhura said then, raising her chin defiantly. “If you allow it, I have it all recorded on the _Enterprise_ computers.”

The Counselors looked at each other briefly before the third one curled his nose twice; it became apparent they took turns speaking. “We are not interested in this. We do not allow alien presences on our planet; you came here uninvited, but we shall not allow you to leave.”

“And why is that?” Kirk demanded, swallowing down his frustration at the aliens’ evident lack of cooperation. It was as if they were _determined_ to see a threat, even if they had to create it.

“It is obvious our planet has many resources that are valuable for your Federation…” the individual in the middle answered promptly; there was a hint of condescension in the artificial voice conjured up by the Translator.

“...And we shall not allow our society to be conquered. We are our own people…”

“...We will remain as such. We will not allow you or your Federation to interfere with our cultures.”

Jim chanced a quick glance at Spock; the Vulcan was staring intently at him, and they locked gazes, communicating silently.

_Can you believe this?_

His First Officer could not believe it either, if Kirk read the raised eyebrow correctly. He let out a soft sigh and prepared himself for the task of convincing their captors that the Federation was _not_ a military association.

Spock beat him to it: “The Federation does not pose a threat to your individuality,” he said tersely, “We merely seek to provide help for those who are in need. Our laws are founded on the absolute, mutual respect we hold for our different cultures. _We mean no harm_.”

The Captain’s lips turned up in a proud smile, and he crossed his arms. “As we repeatedly told you, we only beamed down because our ship received a distress signal.”

Of the three Counselors, only the one to the right seemed to be mollified. They reached up a hand and in what looked like the universal gesture for indecision, brushed their fingers over a lock of long black hair. “Why should you speak the truth?” they asked.

“Why should he _not_ ?” Spock was quick in his defense of his superior officer. “He is the Captain of the _Enterprise_ , and therefore responsible for the well-being of the crew. What purpose would it serve him to _lie_ ? I find it impolite of you to assume the worst when you know nothing about either him _or_ Starfleet and the Federation.”

As he went on, his tone gained a little more heat than it was wont to; Jim noticed - while also hoping no one else did, because the Vulcan wouldn’t have liked that - and he felt his smile soften, brimming with fondness and appreciation. The day would never come when he did not thank his lucky stars that he had somehow managed to gain Spock’s trust, to have him as Commander and friend. In a motion designed to look accidental, he lightly patted his elbow in recognition. The scientist’s eyes darted to his, then back to the aliens.

It took a few moments for the Counselors to regroup, but when they returned to their speech, it was as if their brains had been rebooted - as if they hadn’t heard Spock at all.

“You have trespassed,” the one in the middle said, raising their multi-ridged head proudly. “This is our space, and we do not welcome visitors…”

“...Surely it is a _small_ portion of space if compared to what _your_ Federation owns.”

“The Federation _owns_ nothing,” Kirk said, stressing his point perhaps a little to much for it to still sound polite. “We are a peaceful alliance of planets.”

“Peaceful enough that you carry with you the most advanced weapons your Starfleet can produce.”

It was a legitimate objection; perhaps another Captain would have answered differently, better measuring their words so they sounded innocuous, apologetic even. Not Kirk. Kirk favoured brutal honesty above any other approach. And after all, what good would it do to sugar-coat a truth that was sure to be unveiled, sooner or later? “With all due respect, Counselor, I said _peaceful_ , not _defenceless_.”

“It _is_ true that they brought medical equipment,” the alien to the right murmured to themselves after a moment of silence. Their elaborate hairstyle trembled with every twitching motion they made. “Perhaps we should give them the benefit of doubt.”

Two sets of yellow eyes fell on them. “These are _invaders_ on our planet.”

“Maybe there is a way we can prove our good faith to you,” Jim said then, forestalling the scathing remark that was forming on the Counselor’s lipless mouth. “So we can better understand each other.”

“ _Kreha-thrl_ , I believe it only fair that we let them have a chance.”

Kirk bowed his head in recognition at that, trying not to stare at the contorted pattern of signs marking the aliens’ skin - he had just realised it wasn’t paint, as he’d naively thought, but an artfully woven path of _scars_. “We wish to negotiate our release. You cannot condemn four-hundred sixty-three individuals based only on assumptions. It’s hardly just.”

“That is true.” Even the other two Counselors seemed willing to reconsider. “It would be dishonorable to say the least.”

Spock offered them a curt nod. “It _is_ possible for you to ascertain the nature of our intentions by consulting the _Enterprise_ computers.”

The three aliens looked at each other, then at the Command team of the terran starship, at the way they stood proudly and yet respectfully, one the mirror and the opposite image of the other, barely touching and steady in the space they shared.

“We will rejoin with the rest of the Council to reach a decision in private. We shall let you know.”

* * *

 

Jim leaned against the wall, crossed his arms. His expression was pensive. “Opinion, Spock?”

The Vulcan pursed his lips and walked around him so they were standing side by side, almost touching but not quite. “We are dealing with a highly conservative society. I do not advise rushing them.”

A smirk pulled at the corners of Kirk’s mouth; he would be lying if he did not admit, at least to himself, that he enjoyed the thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins and the challenge to his wits and putting himself on the line to conquer his own life. It wasn’t healthy, far from it, but he knew Spock shared in the feeling - it was the reason why Bones was so often enraged at the Vulcan who enabled most of the Captain’s plans, but it was also why they made such an unparalleled Command team.

Deep down they were the same. Oh, how Jim _loved_ that.

“Alright, then, no rushing,” he conceded, “Then let’s see if we can get beamed out of here.”

He flipped his communicator open under Spock’s unconvinced gaze. “Kirk to _Enterprise_ \- Kirk to _Enterprise_ . Come in, _Enterprise_.”

After a couple of alarming fits of static, the tiny device spat out a scratchy answer: “Scott here, sir!” The engineer’s voice sounded strained, and the line was filled with background noises - as if they’d caught him in the middle of, say, tearing the ship apart.

Nonetheless, Jim was relieved to hear from him. “Scotty! Think you can beam us up?”

“Nay, sir… tha’ would be a problem.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Sir, the engines are dead, and so are the computers! Nothing works but life-support!”

Inside the cell there was a collective intake of breath; Spock straightened his back and his eyes narrowed. Kirk raised both eyebrows at him, but did not comment. “Find out what you can do get the _Enterprise_ back in working order, Scotty,” he said, “We’ll make do.”

Barely suppressing a sigh, he sat down on the floor, and Spock went with him, folding his arms neatly about his bent legs. “I believe that the same technology that disabled our instruments also rendered the ship dead.”

The Captain nodded gravely. “If they are _this_ powerful… We can’t underestimate their threats; and life-support doesn’t last indefinitely.”

“Two weeks and the odd hour, Jim.”

Both Uhura and McCoy turned at that; they had been taking apart their failing instruments with the aid of Security, but now, abandoning their vain attempts at reviving the medical tricorder, they came to join Captain and Commander by the buzzing forcefield.

“Captain, I don’t think they lured us here on purpose. They were sincere about not wanting anything to do with alien lifeforms,” Nyota said slowly.

“No, you’re right. Any idea on what that signal actually was?”

“I have a theory, sir.” Uhura shrugged a little, and held Kirk’s piercing gaze. “It’s likely the shields they have in place read as distress calls to our computers.”

Spock curled a finger over his chin. “I quite agree. You _did_ observe the signal was intermittent in nature. And it would explain its multiple sources.”

“You might be onto something,” Kirk said, jumping up again in a restless motion. “This is unprecedented technology.”

Bones clapped his back fondly. “Well, Jim, this oughta be fun! They’ve yet to build a computer you can’t hack.”

Jim laughed. Spock watched silently as he reciprocated the doctor’s gesture, resting his elbow against the other’s shoulder. The Captain was a highly tactile human being: an _octopus_ , as McCoy had once put it; and yet, he rarely bestowed such touches on his First Officer - and even when he did, they were always controlled, gentle, unintrusive. While the Vulcan would never cease to admire Kirk’s endless respect for different cultures and needs, sometimes he caught himself missing those spontaneous bouts of tactile affection, wondering what it was like to give and receive them.

Pointless. Illogical.

“Perhaps we had better wait to see if they will release us,” he said, and as if to compensate for his deviant thoughts, his tone was clinical; he knew it would attract Jim’s attention, and kept his eyes downcast so as to avoid his concerned scrutiny.

“Yeah,” the Captain finally agreed, giving up on trying to understand what had prompted such a brusque change of demeanour in the Vulcan. “Let’s wait.”

* * *

 

Only one of the three Counselors returned. They had changed clothes, and now wore a plain turquoise robe, adorned by a preposterous quantity of colorful necklaces. Both Kirk and Spock got up and walked to the door, followed by Uhura and McCoy.

“As is the custom of our nation, we shall allow you to fight for your freedom,” the alien solemnly announced. They looked quite pleased with their offer - as if they were expecting the captives to be pleased as well.

“Awesome,” said Jim unthinkingly. Then, as the meaning of the offer sunk in, he frowned deeply. “Wait, _what_?”

“You may choose your champion from any member of your crew,” the Counselor reassured him. It was obvious such fights were common in their culture, expected and maybe even celebrated. “ _If_ your champion wins, you will be free to leave; if they lose, we will have the entirety of your people transported to these prisons.”

The Captain’s eyes flashed indignantly. “I can’t allow that! Many of my crew have families back on their home planets - children!”

Taking notice of the human’s raising ire, Spock stepped closer to him, silently, inconspicuously, ready to intervene if needed - be it by stopping him or supporting him.

For a moment, it seemed as though their captor understood Kirk’s plight. But then they merely tilted their head to the side - a miraculous feat, considering the elaborate hairstyle towering behind their ridged forehead - and spread their arms. “We are not cruel,” they said with what could pass as a smile, “Should you lose - and you probably will - we shall see to the _complete integration_ of your crew in our society.”

They twirled their hand around in a complicated motion, only to close it in a fist and press it against the centre of their belly. It could be the alien equivalent of a human crossing their heart, or a Vulcan touching their temple. “There will be no discrimination against you.” A hint of doubt passed over the Counselor’s face at that. “Though you are, of course, a different species.”

“So _you_ demand _we_ adapt entirely to your culture and mores and yet accuse the Federation of forcing others to do the same?” McCoy snapped, rightfully outraged. Jim reached backwards to curl constraining fingers around his upper arm, and the doctor fell quiet after a disgruntled mutter. “The _nerve_ of these people.”

“It shall be a fair duel,” the alien said, ignoring the human’s outburst. “One against one. And you _shall_ be allowed to pick whatever weapon you desire.”

They bowed deeply, keeping their yellow eyes fixed on the Captain’s, and collected the hems of their abundant robe so they could walk away.  “You have one hour to select your fighter.”

* * *

 

“This is unbelievable,” McCoy growled indignantly, turning his back on the flickering energy field to fix a threatening glare on the gray-and-purple wall. “What kind of Middle Ages shit is this?”

Nyota crossed her fingers, pursing her lips. “They’ve not given us a chance - they’re _sure_ we’re going to lose.”

The doctor had both hands wrapped around his medical tricorder, and was shaking it gently, with care. “If this thing worked, I could at least take a reading of these people, see what we’re fighting against…”

“We should send Starfleet a notice, we can’t keep having this happen every other mission…”

As they spoke, Captain and Commander stared at each other.

They were only shaken from their silent conversation when their Chief Security Officer stepped forth and respectfully cleared her throat. “Captain, I believe I should be the one to fight.”

Kirk looked at the Lieutenant, at the hard glint in her black eyes as she so carelessly offered up her life for a fruitless endeavor. And once again he was humbled - in terrified, crushing awe - at the power he had been afforded. He smiled softly at her, thinking she was far too brave, and also maybe eight years younger than he was. “There won’t be the need, Lieutenant. I’m responsible for the crew, I’ll take care of it.”

“Captain, I do not believe that would be wise.”

Holding in a sigh, Jim prepared himself for yet another tug of war with his First Officer. The Vulcan was sporting a telling non-expression, and his fingers were locked together, clenched tight enough his tendons turned white. “And why is that, Mister Spock?” the Captain asked slowly.

“Because you are human.”

“Oh, and you’re a God, aren’t you?”

There was no real heat behind Kirk’s words - he sounded tired, resigned by now to having that cadenced tone second-guess his every decision. A shiver ran down the back of Spock’s spine, as he felt the sharp sting of his Captain’s disappointment in him keenly, and yet stubbornly refused to show it. “I am Vulcan,” he said. “I am three times stronger than you are, better-suited for this planet’s environment, and a telepath.”

“You think that makes you invincible, don’t you, Spock?” Jim hissed.

Spock most definitely did not think that: he was acutely aware of the full extent of his flaws, and had never presumed to believe himself above error and misunderstanding. Quite the opposite, in fact. But he did know he would never let this human face such a risk; that he was willing to die for him if there came a need. And he was no stranger to fighting for a prize - he had fought a _le-matya_ as a kid just to prove that he was worthy of being called Vulcan, he had spent his youth waging a lost war against the prejudices of an entire planet, he was _used_ to it, he was prepared…

“I believe I have a better chance at surviving than you do.”

Kirk shook his head at him. The Vulcan suddenly wished he would look away, for his eyes had captured him yet again and held him captive, those eyes that never failed to awaken all manner of emotions in him, those eyes that were brighter than any sky he had seen and warmer than Vulcan’s sun, and for this reason had become his home.

“Jim, please. You could not survive a fight against these aliens. They are stronger than you. You couldn’t possibly…”

The Captain’s smile returned, but it was not soft, it was not radiant, it was twisted and dark and intense. “What do you know of the things I survived?” he whispered, so only _he_ could hear. “What do you know of the things I have done?”

“I,” Spock began, but the clever response he had formed in his mind melted in his suddenly dry throat as he beheld glimpses of an unknown past transfigure Jim’s familiar face for the shortest of moments. And then came the realisation that for all that they were friends, for all that the human had claimed he hid nothing from his alien companion, he still guarded his secrets well.

Still kept his mind sealed.

“I do not know,” the Vulcan had no choice but to concede. “But it does not cancel the fact that I am better equipped than you are to face this ordeal.”

Jim’s hand came to rest heavy on his upper arm. Spock’s attention zeroed in on that tiny point of contact, and a wave of concern hit him hard, washing over his shields and shattering them in one clean blow. For as shameful as it was, he had always found himself unable to define the limits of propriety when Kirk touched him; riotous, scandalous, his consciousness eluded his control to stretch towards the human’s, desperate to grasp its essence.

And though he had many times reasoned it would be best to avoid temptation entirely - remove his Captain’s fingers whenever they sought him out, flee him and the dangers of his unwitting intimacy like any sane Vulcan should - he never did.

“Spock, you were in Sickbay not a week ago.” A strange softness filled Jim’s voice. Strange, because Spock could not explain it, explain why it was so familiar to him and why the human felt compelled to use such gentle tones with him, even when the Vulcan pushed his patience and brushed the treacherous edges of insubordination.

“I am fully recovered, Captain,” he said. He wondered if he’d spoken Kirk’s rank aloud to remind him of their respective places, or if it was a warning to his own rebellious self that he should put some distance between them, that it wasn’t healthy to be so dependent, so close to someone who was not his bondmate and would likely never be. “It is only logical I fight.”

“He’s right, Jim,” McCoy told them both, grimace on his face as he looked up from his torn-apart tricorder for a moment. “Much as it pains me to admit it.”

“I know,” Jim confessed, letting his hand fall, perhaps unconsciously adapting to the professionalism Spock had forced back into the discussion; his tone, however, remained that of confidences shared. “I still don’t want you to.”

“Jim, I…” For the second time in a matter of minutes - thirteen point eleven to be as exact as his line of work demanded - the Vulcan found himself at a loss for words. What could he possibly say to that? Could he admit that he, too, shared in the sentiment? That he understood all too well what it meant to make such a decision? That he was sorry it had to be Kirk - his dearest, dearest friend - who sent him to his death? “There is a chance I could win.”

“You don’t believe that,” the Captain said. It wasn’t a question, so Spock did not answer.

He merely sat down with him, close and yet not close enough, and in silence they waited for their hour to pass.

* * *

 

They made Spock take off his shirt. Jim watched from the bleachers, and anxiety welled up in him as those aliens flocked around his First Officer, forcibly guiding him and touching his naked skin in the process. Kirk felt like ripping their hands away and growling at them, but the Vulcan suffered through it stoically, head held high and eyes blank.

The sky stretched purple above the field, and for some reason it looked heavy, ready to bear down on the planet surface and crush it. There wasn’t a cloud on sight, but even with the sun out, it was far too dark for Jim’s liking. Or maybe he was just imagining things - distorting reality so it fit with his grim mood and the fear that gripped him.

He didn’t even know if the combat was to the death.

Spock stood still in the middle of an arena of reddish sand, surrounded by three aliens; one wrapped the Vulcan’s discarded blue shirt around his slim waist, while the other two brought forth a decorated bowl filled with white and turquoise paint. A straight line was drawn from the half-blood’s left cheekbone all the way down to his hip, and he shivered.

It was evidently just because the liquid was cold - and Kirk did his best to ignore Bones grumping about unknown allergenes and unforeseeable reactions - but the aliens seemed to think Spock weak for his chills, and they snapped their fingers in unison twice.

Then they all cleared out except for the Vulcan’s opponent: they were taller than he by at least three heads, not to mention bulkier; Jim hoped that, at least, it meant they were slower.

After the Counselors had given a brief summary of what the duel was about, it began with the rumbling sound of a hundred yellow drums as the aliens shook tinkling bracelets in unison. Kirk paid little mind to the audience, too busy watching Spock, the way he stepped around neatly, making no sound, weapon held effortlessly across his own chest as he studied his challenger.

He had chosen a lirpa-like thing: lithe and lean, it had one sharp, deadly point, while the other end was finely decorated, larger and dangerously curved.  For some reason, the alien had picked the same, and as they crossed steel for the first time, a harsh clang reasounded, shaking the silent crow. The black metal reflected the distant sunshine in an ominous glare.

Spock’s arms trembled visibly, and his opponent’s weight bore on him, forcing him to retreat: a grunt broke through his control, and he finally jumped back. The other’s blade tore a gash open on his elbow, but he didn’t even seem to notice.

Jim bit down on his lower lip and drew blood. He should be there, fighting for his crew. He should be the one risking his life… How could he have allowed this? If something happened to his friend he would never forgive himself. It was only when Bones grasped his hand and forced his fingers apart that he realised he had clenched his fist so hard his nails had begun digging crimson crescent moons on his palm.

He released a heavy breath through his nose.

The Vulcan was moving like quicksilver. He could have probably spent hours slipping away from the alien’s deathly grip, from their searching weapon, and yet he seemed intent on getting as close to them as possible - as if, for once in his life, he had been actively seeking out skin-on-skin contact.

Of course, to know the enemy’s thoughts before they acted could be considered cheating. But the whole affair was highly unfair, wasn’t it? And Spock had probably reasoned it was only logical to even the odds out just a little bit.

Oh, but didn’t Jim _love_ him.

Still, it wasn’t enough - not by a long shot. The alien was fighting in familiar territory, in a friendly environment, and had probably trained for years for such a thing; the Vulcan fought because he had to, and though his blows were clean and precise, few really hit home - he wasn’t strong enough.

Spock kept up a strenuous defense, but he wasn’t infallible. He was tired and had just recovered from a bullet-wound to his left lung, he was logical and a pacifist and too afraid of his own fury to set it free.

Jim resolved that if the damn alien drew just a drop more of precious green blood he would burst in the arena, and to hell with the consequences. He couldn’t let his First Officer fight alone: they were a _team_ , and if the Counselors didn’t like that, well, too bad for them.

The planet’s champion grew bolder by the second. Baring a set of pointed teeth, they urged the Vulcan backwards, and Spock went willingly, breath short and pupils blown wide with exertion. A violent blow to his chest sent him flying backwards to crash against the lilac walls surrounding the stadium.

As he fell, the lirpa-like weapon slipped from his hands, and the alien crushed it under their foot. It snapped with a high-pitched screech that felt like an apocalypse in Kirk’s ears.

Spock was trapped.

Bones had wrapped both hands around his Captain’s wrists and was holding him in place even as tension coiled in his body and he prepared to jump down. “Jim, you _can’t_ ,” the doctor was hissing, low and fast and final, “You’re puttin’ the crew’s lives in jeopardy.”

But Spock was trapped. Ice seized Kirk’s heart in a vise. He had to _help_...

Then, something changed.

Perhaps it was the way the Vulcan held himself; perhaps it was the sudden aura of feralty surrounding him; perhaps it was the threatening gleam that had lit up his gaunt face. And just before they lowered their weapon on him, the alien hesitated.

And Spock was gone. He regained the centre of the arena in a blink, and crouched forward,  fingers curled to resemble claws, waiting for his opponent to chase him. His movements were confident, liquid, eager.

The shift in balance was palpable. The Vulcan seemed to have ridden himself of his scruples, and fought to maim and kill - he was quick, he was ruthless. And if before he had barely been able to avoid the alien’s lethal blows, now he invited them, working to undermine their equilibrium, upset their physical and mental stability.

He had never looked more at ease.

True, the alien was still armed, still stronger. Some of their lunges missed, some didn’t - but they weren’t in charge anymore; it was as if Spock had been _playing_ with them. Like a cat letting its prey escape only to catch it again just a few minutes after, he snuck around the field, lifting waves of sand as he went and goading his enemy into a fruitless race.

It soon became evident that the alien was not suited for such restless running; they begun to heave out wheezing breaths, and their movements slowed. The Vulcan turned to them, finally stilling, and they fell together in a confused tangle of limbs, rolling around as each attempted to subdue the other.

The sharp end of the alien’s lirpa opened a fresh cut on Spock’s shoulder, but again he paid it no mind. His eyes were closed, and he had returned to defending himself from his opponent’s frustrated hits. He didn’t even react when the alien caught him by the wounded arm and threw him back to the ground sharply.

Had he exhausted himself?

Was the game over?

Snorting out what was probably an insult - the universal translator couldn’t quite catch it from that distance - the alien stood above the Vulcan, who lay unresponsive into the sand. They leaned forth, enough that they could slap him hard across the cheekbone. Spock took it without flinching.

Was he stunned? Knocked out?

Was he about to be killed?

“Spock!” Kirk called, and his tone was both desperate and commanding, bidding the Vulcan answer, because he couldn’t _not_ , because if he didn’t then all would be lost and nothing would have meaning and it couldn’t…

From where he lay on the ground, Spock twisted his neck up and met his Captain’s eyes. And then he smiled. There was nothing logical or controlled about that smile: it was feral, it was scary, it was ripe with bloodlust. It was a thing better suited for a beast, and it offered Jim a glimpse of what could have been had Surak not intervened, a glimpse of what Vulcans truly were, deep into their tightly-leashed souls.

Warriors. Strong enough to have tamed _selhats_ , fearless enough to fight _le-matyas_.

Rolling fluidly in the purplish sand, Spock waited till the last moment - waited for his opponent’s heavy weapon to fall upon him - before he reared up and kicked them in the shins, tripping them so they crumbled to the ground, and the sharp end of their own blade missed them by inches.

The Vulcan was up to his feet in a blink, and a frighteningly loud growl escaped from his clenched teeth - he wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore. He swept down on the alien, breathing fast, and suddenly their lirpa-like weapon was in his hands, and he was pointing it against the other’s chest, close enough that it would soon draw blood…

He had won, so why wasn’t he stopping?

Jim stood, and this time Bones did not fight him. “Spock!” he called again, and again the Vulcan’s attention snapped to him. “That’s enough, Spock!”

For one, tense moment, it looked like Spock would disobey, like he would kill his enemy, like the lirpa was going to sink down in soft flesh and the bloodlust shining in those familiar and yet transfigured brown eyes would be appeased.

Then a veil seemed to fall over the Vulcan’s flushed face. He cleared his throat and stepped back neatly, turning to face the Counselors with an unreadable expression, the one he so often used to hide his inner turmoil.

He raised the lirpa up towards them, and very clearly said: “By the rules of combat, I can now claim the prize - release my crew!”

Kirk had a passing thought that he looked glorious in that victory. He tried to meet his gaze again, by Spock shied away from him… As if he was afraid of the fire burning still in his veins.

“Very well. You have won fairly.” The Counselors were evidently vexed by this unforeseen turn of events, but their hands were tied. “You may leave.”

They looked at Spock - and, by extension, at the rest of the landing party - with newfound, if begrudging, admiration. Thankfully, though, it seemed that they would stay true to their word - they respected the Vulcan’s superior abilities, and they weren’t about to refute a victorious warrior his prize.

If they hadn’t put his First Officer’s life in danger repeatedly, Jim might have even learned to like them.

* * *

 

When Spock joined them, still half-naked, paint smudged from where he had rolled into the sand, covered in cuts and bruises, the away team surrounded him to offer awed - and vaguely terrified - congratulations.

Had it been anyone else, Kirk would have hugged him, and that gesture would have been enough to share his overwhelming relief that his friend had survived, that he was alive, that he would recover. But this was Spock, and Jim was not yet so foolish as to think he would ever be allowed this - he did not care that the Vulcan had repeatedly assured him that he _didn’t mind_.

So he just smiled. “Come on, let’s go home.”

This awesome, magnificent, splendid art is by [@leifor](http://leifor.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... what do you think? Aren't Vulcans great?
> 
> Please, leave a trace of your passing, I'd love that!


	2. Uncomfortable Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unresolved issues are unresolved.  
> Except when the two idiot geniuses of the Enterprise finally pick up their courage and (sort of, maybe, almost) have an actual conversation about what they really mean to each other.  
> Plus, Jim tells Spock he's illogical, and Spock doesn't even disagree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This second chapter? Very hard to write. I've been juggling a ton of exams and I'm actually sort of behind, but... It's so worth it. I love confessions. I love get-together stories. 
> 
> Plus, Spock is so in love it's ridiculous - he can't even think straight, poor thing.

_**2** _

_**Uncomfortable Truths** _

 

 

The familiar soft lights of Transporter Room flared around them, and the away team collectively breathed out a sigh of relief. It was great to be back on the  _ Enterprise _ . A fully-functioning  _ Enterprise _ , as the Counselors had repeatedly promised. Jim had guaranteed he would make sure to mark their planet as off-limits to the rest of the Federation, and they had left on fairly good terms. Or, as good as could be with all that green blood staining blue fabric so dark it turned black.

For some reason, Spock had thought it logical to put his shirt back on; he might have been cold, or uncomfortable showing that much bare skin, but Kirk knew he was just trying to hide the full extent of his injuries, and as his Captain and  _ friend _ , he wasn’t having any of it. 

“You’re going straight to Sickbay, you hear?” he hissed in the Vulcan’s beautifully pointed ear. “Not a step out of line, Mister.”

The scientist opened his mouth, clearly ready to spit up a snarky retort, or perhaps insist his Captain joined him, too, on a long-due trip to the Medical facilities, but McCoy caught him by the arm without preamble, waving his revived Tricorder as one would a sword. “Move along, princess. Follow me.”

Unfortunately, Bones didn’t have the chance to drag his Commander down to Sickbay, because they were ambushed by Scotty, who had been waiting anxiously by the sliding doors.

“Captain, I’m begging ye, deal with the Admirals!” he burst out.

Kirk blinked at his distressed Engineer, instantly alarmed by his wide eyes and his wildly gesticulating hands. “What’s with the Admirals?” he asked quickly, only half-glaring at Spock, who had stopped to listen.

“They’ve been demanding updates every other minute and I told them I had nothing ta report ta them, tha’ you’d be sending your own report…” He shook his head vigorously. “I have a warp core ta tend to! Engines going dead and then back on like tha’, it’s no’ natural...”

Somehow, Jim managed to stretch his lips into a smile. “Alright, Scotty, I’ll take it from here.”

Scotty gave him a grateful nod and fled from Transporter Room, disappearing deep into the darkest recesses of the ship.

* * *

 

Kirk took the call in the nearest Briefing Room; Spock and McCoy both filed in behind him. Spock stood stoically at his side, doing his best to ignore the doctor’s constant poking and nagging, and kept his eyes fixed on Jim. He seemed shaken, as if on the verge of a meltdown, and a purplish bruise was beginning to rise on his cheekbone.

“Get your ass to Sickbay, Spock,”the Captain hissed through clenched teeth, “Right now. It’s an...”

But then, just before he could add the magical little phrase that would have the Vulcan surrendering his stubbornness and  _ doing as he was told _ , the computer flashed with a quick rainbow of lights and produced a symphony of twinking sounds.

They all stood on attention as the enraged face of Admiral Komack appeared, magnified by a factor of three, on the wide screen before them. “Oh, good,  _ Captain Kirk _ ,” he said, without even making the effort to mask the contempt in his voice. “We have received your earlier message.” His greish eyes swept over the Command team condescendingly, and he didn’t even bat an eyelid in the face of Spock’s bloodied appearance. 

Any other human - any other  _ person _ \- would have at least dismissed everyone but the Captain at the sight. But _ no _ , Kirk had to get the one Admiral who hated his guts. 

Knowing full well there was no way of convincing the Vulcan to leave his precious human now, Leonard resorted to calling Nurse Chapel up, requesting she bring bandages and the dermal regenerator so they could start patching up their fool of a First Officer.

“Full report on the unadvisable and unauthorised First Contact you’ve just conducted,” Komack demanded tersely, completely impervious to the glares sent his way by the medics. 

Jim sighed through clenched teeth, and as he spoke his tone was level, dangerously congenial. In brisk, minimal terms he recounted the essentials of their misadventure, taking care to mention how hostile to outside influences the planet was, and how narrowly they escaped the threat of being forever held hostage. “Theirs seems to be a duel-based culture. We were lucky Mister Spock was able to defeat his opponent.”

The Admiral scrunched his nose up in evident distaste. “And you agree with this version of events, Commander Spock?”

The Vulcan nodded before launching in a brief report of his own, elaborating on what his Captain had just said. It was impressive how well he managed to ignore both McCoy and Chapel fussing around him - as if they weren’t even there. “Thus, it is quite evident that the Captain had no choice but to agree to the fight,” he pointed out, stretching his arm forward for the nurse to place an already-blooded gauze on.

“I fail to see _ how _ it is that you managed to enrage a highly advanced,  _ resourceful  _ people…” 

Before Kirk could politely suggest Komack check his hearing, Spock stepped forth confrontationally. “The Captain is  _ not _ to blame for their prejudices on the Federation…” he  began in a fierce hiss.

Jim wrapped his fingers around his wrist, and the Vulcan fell silent, a question in his eyes and a light blush on his cheeks. “Spock, please, just…  _ Sickbay _ ,” the human softly said.

Spock took another step forward and one to the left, towards his Captain, indicating he was not to be moved easily. Uncertain whether to be annoyed at his stubbornness of touched by the unwavering loyalty it betrayed, Kirk decided to be neither, and returned his attention to the Admiral. After all, the sooner the call ended, the sooner they would be free.

“Admiral, what our instruments read as a distress signal was the coding for the shields they have around their planet so  _ they are not disturbed _ ,” he explained, “You can’t expect for that to make a very successful First Contact…”

“I expect, Captain Kirk, that you conduct yourself as someone in your position  _ should _ …”

McCoy, who had been quiet until then, too busy working at the wound adorning Spock’s shoulder, looked up threateningly. “Listen here, Admiral, I don’t think you understand…” he snapped, not even masking his irritation.

“With all due respect, Captain Kirk has never conducted himself in a way unbefitting of his -” 

“You will have my report on your desk in less than an hour,” Jim said, raising his voice so it would drown out the general protests. “If you  _ just  _ let me see to the ship now.”

Before the Admiral could speak, a rustling sound was heard from behind him, and then a white-haired woman entered the framing of the computer’s cameras, squinting at them from behind old-fashioned spectacles. “James, what’s going on here?” she asked Komack, frowning in disapproval.

Kirk smiled a little; Akira Nogura was one of the most respected, highest-ranking Starfleet officials. She had been Pike’s mentor, and had taken quite a liking to Jim during his Academy days, especially after the Narada incident.

Her dark eyes fixed on the young Captain, then on the many wounds scattered about the Commander’s skin. “Oh, you look terrible!” she cheerfully exclaimed. “You should be in Sickbay.”

“ _ Thank you, _ ” Jim and Leonard chorused. 

“We shall be on our way promptly, ma’am,” Kirk added, saluting her with a bright grin. “In fact, we wouldn’t mind going right now.”

Komack looked vaguely displeased at the exchange, but he clearly wouldn’t dare contradict Nogura - she was a force to be reckoned with, and a soul had yet to be born who would show her anything less than absolute respect. “I want a full report in two hours, sirs, and it better be detailed.”

“Yes, Admiral.”

The Captain closed communications quickly, muttering under his breath. “Piece of…” But he never quite finished the insult, because beside him the Vulcan swayed dangerously on the spot. “Spock!”

Kirk’s arms were around him immediately. Ice settled deep within Jim’s chest as he supported the full weight of his friend, feeling his body tense for but a moment, fingers clenching around golden fabric in a vain search for purchase. 

There was an apology in his eyes when they met Jim’s. 

For what, the human did not know.

* * *

 

Sickbay was empty but for a lone Ensign who was getting their dislocated elbow fixed in the other room; Kirk threw them a consolatory smile as he passed them by, though he didn’t stop to chat a bit as he normally would. He dashed across the dimly-lit space, feeling tired, feeling drained as he looked for his First Officer. There were things that had to be discussed, and as much as he would have loved to postpone the conversation, he knew it was a now-or-never kind of situation.

But he found the Vulcan asleep, lying supine on the biobed. The delicate breaths escaping from his parted lips were the only indication he was even alive, and Jim had to resist the temptation to hover his palm over his mouth just to feel them. Instead, he stood in silence by his side, watching his lashes flutter, watching the alien greenish hue dusted over his eyelids.

He seemed so fragile. Vulnerable.

Even in sleep he wasn’t at peace, Kirk had noticed so long before, how Spock preferred to drive himself to the point of exhaustion just so he didn’t have to surrender to that loss of control, to the whims of a dreaming subconscious. He feared sleep because it was unknown, and threatening in the unpredictable things it could show.

Gently, as if wanting to offer a kind of comfort, the human brushed the very tips of his fingers over the Vulcan’s forehead, feeling distant relief at finding it pleasantly cool. Spock’s lips twitched, but he didn’t wake, he just sighed a little. He turned his face towards the source of that warmth, trying to burrow into the Captain’s touch.

Jim snatched his hand away guiltily when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching.

“He’s just sedated, Jim, nothing to worry about,” Bones said, clapping his shoulder briefly before leaning in to check on his patient’s vitals. “In a couple hours he’ll be up and kicking and ready drive us all crazy with that thick-headed logic of his.”

McCoy spoke in a light tone, evidently teasing and wanting to dispel some of his friend’s tension, but Kirk did not smile. “He could have died,” he murmured, eyes glued to the Vulcan’s closed ones. “They all  _ expected _ him to.”

“Yes. But it’s part of what we do,” the doctor told him, only half-seriously. As he fussed around the biobed, changing the settings seemingly at random, he kept a steady gaze on Jim. Jim, who looked so troubled, so pained, so aged for someone who was still so young. For what had to be the millionth time, Leonard wished he could shelter him, offer protection from the weight of responsibility - culpability, even - Captaincy entailed, or at least help him shoulder it.

But he couldn’t. Kirk was alone.

“We’re all almost-dying at least twice a week. Twice a day, too, though that’s only the two of you.”

“I know, but…” The Captain fell quiet, pursed his lips. Unable to help himself, he reached out again for the Vulcan, tracing the stripes adorning the right sleeve of his fresh shirt.

Leonard frowned. It was an unsettling thing to witness, this bond Jim shared with Spock; disquieting, because it was so evidently strong and yet went mostly unacknowledged - it was intense, stretched above and beyond the limits of friendship and even romantic attraction, but neither seemed willing to address its existence. 

They appeared to be content to live trapped in a limbo of undefined expectations, a relationship made of near-death experiences and academic banter and quiet chess matches and oblivious flirting.

“But what?” the doctor pressed, hoping to get his friend to admit something - anything. 

Jim’s blue eyes were thunderous as they flashed to his for a second. “Nothing.” He returned to his quiet observation of the Vulcan’s sleep.

“ _ Jim _ .”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Kirk insisted, crossing his arms stiffly. He knew it was childish behavior, knew Bones had a point and a reason for asking him to share his innermost feelings, but putting them into words would have made them seem real, far too real for his liking, and what if Spock was actually in a trance and could hear what they said?

“I think at some point you’re gonna have to,” McCoy told him gently. “So why not now?”

Oh, he had so many excuses why it could not be  _ now _ . Why it should be never, why it  _ had _ to be never. “I have nothing to say.”

He was saved from Leonard’s snarky retort by the chirping sound of the comm blinking to life. “Captain to the bridge,” came Nyota’s melodious voice, which Jim had never loved quite so much.

“Coming right up!” he answered. He slipped away from the firm grip Bones had closed around his shoulder, and tilted his head towards the Vulcan. “When he wakes, tell him to get some rest?” he asked. The doctor nodded, fond exasperation flickering in his keen eyes. “Later, Bones.”

“See ya, kiddo.” 

McCoy watched him walk away and shook his head.

* * *

 

Someone had apparently thought it fit to record the fight. Of course. Why wouldn’t they? And of course the video had spread throughout the ship faster than the plague. Of course.

Kirk hadn’t known his crew to be made out of a bunch of babbling, unprofessional idiots.

Throughout the course of less than a week, the Captain had caught at least thirty people passing the thing around, and a hundred discussing it. Discussing how ruthlessly their Commander had fought, how dangerous he could be, how one could have never guessed with that cold composure of his and the way he never seemed to really care about anything…

It pissed Jim off to no ends that the Vulcan didn’t mind the near-constant chatter and the indecent discussions going on about him in the corridors. It was as if he hadn’t heard - which wasn’t possible, because as First Officer he heard  _ everything _ , knew everything that concerned the crew.

But for this fight thing, he appeared to be willing to turn a blind eye.

Normally Spock had at least the decency to look apologetic after he pulled this kind of stunt, and yet he seemed to be  _ proud _ of it, and barely even masked it, as if he expected Kirk to congratulate him, to praise him even. He was so unbearably proud.

Proud because he had won, proud because he had survived, as if it hadn’t been just good luck and nothing more, luck that he had known how to use that lirpa-like weapon, luck that he had happened to be faster than the alien, just luck, good luck, and it was bound to end someday, wasn’t it, it would end and Spock would  _ die _ …

Jim finally snapped when he heard two of the Vulcan’s most prized scientists make lewd comments about the damn video as they replayed it in the mess. “Gentlemen! What are you doing?” 

The two young men turned around and blinked at him guiltily. They looked at each other, stammered a little, looked back at the Captain. Kirk had to consciously force himself to relax his jaw and and his tense posture. “Nothing, sir.”

“This behavior is unbecoming, you understand?” Jim said sternly, narrowing his eyes when he sensed a protest coming his way. “I don’t want anything of the sort to happen again.”

“Yessir, sorry sir!” they chanted, not at all contrite but clearly knowing their place enough that they did not contradict him. “Won’t happen again!”

The Captain gave a curt nod, satisfied with the answer even though it wasn’t as heartfelt as he would have liked. “You are to delete the video at once,” he added, pointing a finger toward the Padd screen, with its silent looping footage of the fight and the green blood and the shining black weapons… “And while you’re at it, make sure it  _ stays  _ deleted, uh?”

“Aye, sir!”

* * *

 

Spock cornered his Captain two hours after, just outside the mess. He tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the very tip of his finger, then waited until he was sure he had the whole of his attention before he voiced his concerns to him. “Jim, why did you reprimand two of my best scientists?”

Kirk narrowed his eyes at him. He wasn’t surprised that the Vulcan had heard - after all, news travelled fast in a space as small as that of the _ Enterprise _ \- he was surprised that he would care about it. The Commander was usually extremely severe when it came to that kind of things. But then, he had been acting strangely since the fight. “They were being disrespectful.”

“But they were off-duty. And you cannot expect…” Spock crossed his arms around his Padd, pressing it against his chest as it kept blinking. He appeared to be mildly uncomfortable about the topic of discussion, but he went on relentlessly, out of curiosity and his desire to better understand the fascinating enigma that was his Captain. “It is known that most species find gossip soothing and conducive to the reinforcement of a positive mood and a healthy working environment.”

“Yes, people like to gossip, I know,” Jim said, waving his hand dismissively, as if physically brushing away the very notion. “I just thought they were taking it too far, that’s all.”

“I am hardly hurt by it,” Spock pointed out reasonably. 

Behind them, two Security Officers walked past, holding hands; the Captain watched them silently before he turned back to his friend, who was still staring at him intently.

“Well, it pissed me off, okay?” When it became apparent that it was not  _ okay _ , Kirk shrugged, raised both eyebrows challengingly. “What if it had been me they were talking about?”

Immediately, Spock’s entire posture changed: he clenched his jaw minutely, and the tiniest line popped into existence at the corner of his mouth. “That would have been different.”

“How come? Can’t they gossip about me too?” Jim felt a hint of tease enter his voice, and ruthlessly suppressed it: he was still quite angry at the foolish Vulcan for trying to get himself killed, and he wasn’t going to forgive him so easily as he had before, because that clearly didn’t work.

“You are the Captain,” Spock said quite unnecessarily. “You deserve respect.”

“And you don’t?” Kirk threw in, tone chilly now. He had always known his First Officer wasn’t one to demand ruthless obedience, but he couldn’t really think he was undeserving of plain, polite respect? It made the human itch with the need to erase such a foolish idea from his mind, and also punch some sense into him.

“That is not what I…” the Vulcan began, in a useless defence.

“Bullshit,” Jim snapped. Then he turned around and slipped into a turbolift, leaving him alone to ponder at the reasons behind his icy mood and the sudden anger that had flashed across his eyes for but a short moment.

* * *

 

The chess game was awfully quiet, even if it was extremely late in the night and they had just spent a very long shift dealing with diplomats and their many tantrums. Inside Kirk’s quarters Spock sat pensively at the board, trying his best to steal careful glances at the human whenever he thought him to be suitably distracted.

Jim did not return any of those looks.

It had been eleven point thirteen days since the duel, and Jim was still ignoring him. This happened frequently between them, usually if one of them had come too close to losing his life - and there had been times, on occasion, when Spock had deserved it, he knew. He was not above giving the silent treatment himself, if he believed it to be the best course of action for his point to come across.

However, the Vulcan was at a loss as to why Kirk would hold a grudge against him  _ now _ . The fight had been stupendous, he had won the lives of the crew and suffered very little - it had taken him less than two hours to recover from the superficial wounds he had received.

It was hardly a dire situation.

Perhaps then, he had reasoned, there must be something escaping him.

“In the past days you have been… distant,” Spock said when he decided he could no longer bear the tense silence. “Have I… Have I offended you in some manner?” 

Kirk’s eyes met his fleetingly, surprise playing about his shadowed face as he finally deigned to look at him. “I’m not… I’m not angry  _ at you _ , I just…” He shook his head and fell quiet again.

The Vulcan pursed his lips into a thin line, and set aside his king on the board, indicating the game was over. The human’s gaze never left him. “I understand that you did not wish for me to fight, but I  _ won _ . I do not believe your hostility is warranted.” 

“I still hated it,” the Captain told him curtly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back into his chair, as if reinforcing the distance between them. Spock ached with the need to erase it, to fill the space around Jim with his own thoughts and touch, to be allowed to exist so close to him. 

“Why?” he asked, doing his best to mask the hint of dejection in his voice. He knew, logically, that Kirk was no Vulcan, that he could never understand what fighting the way he had truly meant, that he was human and so utterly oblivious… and yet Spock was still stung sharply by unwanted feelings of rejection, even resentment, things he couldn’t seem to be able to completely erase from his mind.

“You could have  _ died _ ,” Jim hissed, as if it wasn’t a given, as if this would clarify everything when all it did was confuse. “You could have  _ died _ and you didn’t even fucking think about it, you never do, not even for a moment.  _ That’s _ what I hate about it.”

Paradoxically, the sudden animosity in his Captain’s voice served to reassure the Vulcan - this was familiar territory, as they’d had such conversations before, and had often agreed to disagree only to return to the subject whenever the occasion presented itself. “But if it had been you who fought, then you  _ would _ have died,” he said in what he believed was a completely level tone for a perfectly objective thesis. “Whereas  _ I _ had a chance at…”

Kirk didn’t even let him finish.“Stop. Just stop it,” he interrupted, any trace of anger vanished from his voice to leave room for nothing but a heavy weariness that chilled Spock to the bone. “Why do you always have to do this?” the human asked. 

Though it sounded like a rhetorical question, it looked as if he was expecting an answer, which the Vulcan had no idea how to provide. In the face of his prolonged silence, Jim sighed briskly and explained himself: “Act like your life is disposable.”

It wasn’t the first time Kirk directed such a question  on him, but he had never phrased it quite like that - like he left no other option but answering truthfully. His Captain had him checkmated, and since Spock would not lie to him… 

“Jim, I will always choose to save you,” he very seriously murmured, holding the human’s gaze even if he wanted nothing but to flee from those perceptive eyes that were digging holes in his composure. “It is my duty as First Officer and friend.” 

He wondered if it sounded weak, that excuse he always offered. He wondered if it was evident that  _ duty _ was but a word he hid behind, that there was so much more to it than what he would ever be willing to admit. He wondered if Kirk _ knew _ .

“No life must be saved at the expense of another,” Jim snapped. “And even if there  _ was  _ a law that decided one person’s life is superior to - more important than - another’s, even if there was, I would sooner  _ die _ than accept it.”

Again there was a darkness in him, the same the Vulcan had noticed planetside.  _ “What do you know of the things I have survived?” _

Jim, whom he had seen survive death itself, had asked that of him. And now, watching the alien flames of emotion play about his beloved’s face, Spock understood the meaning of that question.  _ Don’t you know that death is easy, death is nothing when compared to losing others, to losing cherished lives? Don’t you know that for every person who dies there are many more who will mourn them? Don’t you know surviving is worse than dying sometimes?   _

The Vulcan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That is… not what I am saying.”  His desire to keep Jim from harm, his need to see that he was safe at all times, the almost instinctual way he had of putting himself in the way of harm if it meant saving  _ him _ … It was selfish, all of it. Spock did it because he would not - could not - face the pain of losing him, not again.

And that was the truth.

“But  _ it is _ . Can’t you see? You do this all the time and it’s  _ dangerous _ .” 

Inside the human’s eyes was a light of agitated concern, and the Vulcan could not bear its weight. Instead, he dropped his gaze to Jim’s hands, so tense the tendons stood out, resting mere inches from his own. If they touched, Spock would see into his mind, see everything and lose himself in it. 

He was unsure of what his face was conveying at that point, and he did not have the strength to care. Kirk would not judge. “I would not have you die, Jim, you must understand…” 

_ You must understand how inappropriate this is, how wrong of me to demand this of you, how ludicrous the notion that I cannot even speak these words aloud to you when you’ve never been less than completely honest with me. My friend, my brother. My love... _

_ T’hy’la.  _

“Understand  _ what _ , Spock?” Jim pressed, starting to lose his patience. He drew his chair back abruptly and paced, twisting his hands together as if trying to tear his own fingers apart. “Won’t you explain yourself for once in your life and be  _ clear _ ?” 

The rebuke hit home, causing a blush to colour Spock’s cheeks. It had been years since he’d last found himself so vulnerable. It was, of course, the logical product of his own shortcomings, and of that foolish habit he had of indulging in emotion - human and Vulcan alike - whenever his Captain was concerned.

Never had someone caused him to question his own beliefs the way Kirk did - never had someone challenged him quite as much. 

“Why do you always invite death?” he snapped, never taking his eyes off the human, turning around in his seat just so he could follow his restless movements inside the dimly-lit room. “Why would you rather face mortal danger than let others take lesser risks?” His thoughts were spilling from his lips like water from a cracked dam. He was coming dangerously close to revealing the whole truth, and where would that leave them?

How could he burden the Captain with feelings, Vulcan feelings that refused to be controlled, how could he risk their friendship for something Spock himself did not even believe could ever be possible?

“You act so irresponsibly and emotionally and it is constantly  _ testing me _ ,” he said, speaking in a low tone so as not to let anything show through. “Why is it that you  _ refuse _ to see reason - refuse to let me help you?”

Jim stopped by the table; one of his hands came to rest by the chessboard, index finger tracing the contours of the captured pieces. “And you don’t?” he asked lightly, “Do you really believe what  _ you _ do is logical?”

“It is logical to me.” 

Disbelief crossed the Captain’s face and he frowned deeply. His eyes were shadowed, so Spock couldn’t judge his expression adequately. He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You’re exactly like me, can’t you see it?” Kirk said quietly. “You take the same risks, make the same stupid choices.”

The Vulcan blinked, tightened the grip he had unconsciously wrapped around the seat of his chair. This conversation they were having was beginning to feel more and more like chess - and he was powerless to thwart Jim, the master tactician, the one human who could read him like a book, pry him open and learn his secrets with terrifying ease.

“When I do, it is because I see no other solution. Fighting eleven days ago  _ was _ the only solution.” He took a steadying breath, unclenched his fingers, folded them neatly in his lap. “Surely you can see that?”

“I see that,” Kirk told him, and he stepped closer, out of the shadows, and Spock felt the full weight of that piercing gaze resting on him. “But you can’t expect me to accept it.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t!” Again, the human’s voice had risen, his tone was tense. The scientist in Spock noted Jim’s dilated pupils, his flaring nostrils, the white knuckles straining on his trembling fists… his readiness for a fight.

“Jim, this is highly emotional.” 

A derisive laugh came his way. “Well, I’m  _ human _ !”

“Your behavior is confusing…” the Vulcan admitted, pushing his chair away from the table so he could keep staring at his Captain. He could have just stood up, but something held him back; perhaps sitting gave him the illusion of control. The illusion that he could keep his composure indefinitely, never have it crack. “Understanding and acceptance should be the same thing.” 

Jim shook his head repeatedly, a quick, restless movement. “But they’re not, Spock, that’s the _ point _ !”

“Why?” Spock insisted. He knew his own eyes were widened, pinned to the human’s face - his glorious face that glowed with how deeply he was feeling, how pressured he was and yet still proud. The Vulcan could do nothing but stare, confronting himself once more with how much he cared for this person, how much he was taken by him. “ _ Why _ , Jim?”

“Because you’re right!” Jim finally screamed, throwing his arms down in a gesture of surrender. And then his voice dropped to a whisper, so low that even the Vulcan had to strain to hear it. “I  _ am  _ emotionally compromised.”

“By  _ what _ ?”

“By  _ you _ , what else?”

Spock’s mouth popped open, and he stared at Kirk, speechless and astounded.

* * *

 

A hard smile escaped Kirk when he saw the stupefied expression painted on his First Officer’s pale face. He swallowed down the knot that wanted to lodge itself in his throat, trying his best to ignore the fact that his heart was beating so fast and so loudly that Spock could probably hear it.

Those pointy eyebrows of his were arched, and he was still quiet; the human chose to interpret that as a request for clarification, or at the very least a mute declaration of perplexity.

_ Oh, well. There goes nothing. _

Jim went to kneel in front of the Vulcan, then raised a pair of very earnest eyes on him. His voice was soft, softer than it had ever been. “Look, I really hadn’t meant to tell you,” he began, thinking he should have just shut up about the fight and let Spock continue through his life convinced Captain Kirk was just a reckless, weirdly protective Captain.  

“Believe me, I know I’m putting you in a very difficult position, I’m your superior officer and I really shouldn’t…”

That got the Vulcan to speak, at least. His back was bent, his whole body leaning towards the human as if unconsciously seeking him out, and yet his expression betrayed nothing but his utter lack of understanding. “Jim, there is nothing you cannot tell me.”

“Alright, here it is,” Kirk said, then fell quiet. 

It took him a long time to gather up his courage and finally say what had been on his mind for the past few years. A confession he had never dared make since Tarsus, since he had learned just how dangerous it could be to gift someone your own heart to hold.

But he trusted Spock would never break him - knew the lengths the Vulcan was willing to go to only to see he was safe. And so he told him the truth, even if it scared him out of his mind. “I love you.” 

Brown eyes widened in clear disbelief. Kirk cocked his head to the side, relieved that Spock didn’t look ready to freak out. “That’s it, I said it,” he went on, as a way to fill a silence that was growing more awkward by the second. “I’m in love with you, and I’m really really sorry. I promise you I’ll never speak of this again, and nothing has to change, okay?” 

He rushed through his explanation, wanting it to be over as soon as possible so he could forget it, forget the embarrassment that was eating him up. The back of his neck was prickling, his ears burned… but he kept his eyes firmly locked with the Vulcan’s, a foolproof way of showing him the honesty in his declaration. “I… I don’t expect anything from you. Honest. I just… love you. Have for quite a bit. So now you know.”

He waited. Long enough that he was starting to despair his friend would ever respond. They could just stay there, facing each other, until someone called them to the bridge, breaking the strange spell that had frozen the room, captured it in a stifling moment. 

It was unnerving, watching the Vulcan as he got his bearings. He looked so thrown - like he’d expected any excuse but this. Like the notion of Jim loving him was simply too absurd to consider.

And then he moved. He pressed his lips together in a thin line, seemed to think better about it, and finally let a delicate smile curve them upwards. “I am… gratified to hear this,” he murmured gently. “Jim… I cannot say I understand your reasons, but… I am… happy, nonetheless.”

Kirk, sensing there was something more, did not reply. 

Spock reached out his hand and it was shaking; tentatively, unsure even now of how best to express himself, he touched his first and middle fingers against the human’s mouth, a clash of traditions that somehow melted in a sweet blend, and he traced the smile he so adored as it bloomed into a blinding grin.

“I admire you,” he blurted out, and there were no more filters, no more, “I never had the courage to come to you with the truth. Every time I found myself with the perfect excuse not to; and I believed it to be logic, reason, that held me back. It was fear.”

The Captain’s hands had come up to hold his; and he gave a light pull, an invitation really, and Spock slipped down off his chair and into his arms. It was… strange, to be suddenly this close, neither of them knowing what to do with the sudden permission to indulge in an intimacy they’d both desired and denied for so long.

They kissed, briefly, as if testing the waters. When they pulled apart, looked at each other, the Vulcan’s cheeks were flushed green with elation, and his eyes were sparkling, laden with awe and fascination and love.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Spock.”

Jim wanted to cry and laugh and scream all at once, and it was wonderful and unbelievable and many other things he didn’t really care to name. He pressed his lips to Spock’s again and it felt like winning, like his mind was full of honey and his blood had been replaced with fine wine.

They were wrapped so tightly around each other that Kirk could count all of his friend’s ragged breaths, listen to the frantic beat of his heart, thrumming at his waist. He fit his palm against it, right below the jagged scar left from when the Vulcan had been wounded during the Krall incident, and that contact - proof of life - eventually rid him of the visceral fear that had plagued him since before the fight.

They were  _ there _ , they were alive, they were together.

For now, in that moment, safe.

He cradled Spock’s head against his shoulder, trailing soft kisses into his silken hair. He had never known peace could be so comforting - just the strange shapes the Vulcan was drawing up and down his back and the familiar scent of his skin, enveloping him like a blanket, and the brush of his soft mouth on his left clavicle when he spoke.

“You know, in ancient times, Vulcans frequently fought for their mates.”

A snort escaped him at the notion. It figured. Leave it to Vulcans to turn everything into a matter of life and death. “You were totally sexy in that arena,” Kirk confessed,  “I was just too worried to notice.”

Spock chuckled gently. Jim felt it tickle his neck, rumble into his shoulder, and unconsciously clutched his beloved closer, as if to keep that precious secret guarded, to himself. It was a beautiful sound, so unexpected and sweet… “Do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Laugh,” Kirk prompted, tilting the Vulcan’s chin up so he could see his face. “Laugh for me.”

And he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a very short epilogue to give this story an even sweeter end! I hope y'all had fun so far.


	3. Epilogue: Sickbay, Some time later

Spock closed his eyes as Jim littered quick, delicate kisses all over his face. A sense of peace and belonging warmed his chest when he reached out his unbandaged hand to meet the human’s warmer one in the ozh’esta. 

“Hello,  _ t’hy’la _ ,” he murmured, smiling a little when Kirk leaned back and away from him, blue eyes shining in love and relief.

“All patched up?” he asked, trailing a careful touch up the sterilised fabric covering the Vulcan’s ribcage. “Bones said you’ll be fine in the morning.”

“Indeed,” Spock confirmed, keeping their fingers entwined so as to bask in the comforting emotional transference that poured into his skin from the loving contact. Between them, the bond strengthened by the day, a golden thread wrapped around their joined minds that gentled the silence with whispered thoughts. “I am well enough, considering.”

The Captain raked his free hand through his unruly hair, then offered him a rueful grin. “Too much to ask you promise me never to do something so stupid again?” 

“Only if you promise the same in return,” was Spock’s ready reply, accompanied by a minute raising of his left eyebrow. He was not entirely successful in suppressing his wince when the motion triggered the headache caused by the many medications McCoy had imparted on him, and Jim’s hand was immediately resting on his forehead.

“Fair enough, love,” he said, bending over him again so they could kiss - slow, tender touch that was soothing and reassuring and spilling devotion into yet another night spent in the MedBay.

The Vulcan’s eyelids fluttered closed again. There were worse places to be in than Sickbay, he decided. The lights were low enough that he felt no discomfort, the distant buzzing of the ship’s engines lulled his mind into an almost-trance, and the doctor had trapped him in a private room - which meant that he and Jim, at least, would be afforded some privacy. 

“You should sleep,” Kirk told him, leaving one final kiss to the very tip of his ear before he stepped back entirely. “What do you need, baby?”

“You are off-duty, _ t’hy’la _ ,” Spock noted casually. He slid to the right side of the tiny bed, leaving a little room for the human should he choose to indulge him regardless of McCoy’s warnings. “Join me?”

“And cause a scene when Bones comes to check-up on you?” Jim sat down to remove his boots, and the Vulcan brushed two fingers along his spine. When the Captain stretched over the covers, his Commander curled around him like a cat, seeking his warmth. “Can’t wait for him to kick me out, love.”

They lay together on the small bed, as close as Spock’s aching bones allowed. More kisses were exchanged, and words whispered in the small space between their mouths, and they fell asleep still holding hands, secure in the knowledge that they were alive, that they had tricked death once again, that they had won - they had won each other and the  _ Enterprise  _ and the right to an entire Universe they could explore.

It was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here ends the story of two of the most reckless officers Starfleet has ever had the pleasure of calling its own.  
> They'll live dangerously ever after, sailing across the stars.
> 
> I hope this was worth your time!  
> Kisses
> 
> Visit me on tumblr: @hanasheralhaminail (trek blog) and @weaver-of-fantasies-and-fables (writing blog!)


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